Becoming His Muse, Part Three (13 page)

I moan with pleasure to encourage him. I struggle with my bonds to show how much I want to be free so that I can ravage him.

“I could come all over your face and tits but I want to fuck you. Fuck you like I’ve never fucked you before.”

I moan again, caring nothing about the harsh words, only excited that there will be more. He steps away from me. I am surrounded again by cool air and wonderings. I am about to stand up. I haven’t lost the use of my legs and I feel such a strong urge to feel his body. I know he’s close. I can hear him breathing. I imagine him still touching himself, but more slowly now, getting ready to come into me. I hear him rustling, and then I hear the liquid tear of a condom wrapper.

He returns to me, pushing the sleeves of my blouse down to my bound wrists. I am fully exposed to him, and full of hungry desire.

“Take the blindfold off,” I whisper. “Untie me so I can hold you.”

He says nothing. Maybe he shook his head but of course I can’t see that. Then I feel his strong hands on my hips. He’s drawing me up toward him. I open to him. But then, with swift, strong control he flips me around and pushes me down so that I’m doubled over the edge of the chair, my ass open to the ceiling. My face and chest fall into a layer of cushions and if it wasn’t totally dark before, it is now. He steps between my wide open legs. I feel the fronts of his thighs against the backs of mine. He rests the head of his sheathed cock against the river mouth of my flowing, inflamed pussy. He remains there, still, while he massages my ass cheeks and tugs on his knotted belt around my wrists. My shoulders tighten in pain.

“You trust me, Ava?”

I nod, ignoring the pain. The aching desire in my pussy tames the pain somehow, so that the pleasure I’m feeling seems heightened by that little bit of pain, which is strange and unexpected to me. But I’ve decided to let go, to trust Logan, to trust myself. He leans forward slightly so that the head of his cock dips into my pussy the tiniest little bit. I whimper. I want him inside me so bad and he’s teasing me, going so slowly. I try to raise myself more, open a little more so that he’ll slide in effortlessly, but he’s totally in control.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get what you want. And more.” He releases his hold on the belt and my shoulders soften and relax in relief.

“What do you want, Ava?”

“I want you inside me.”

“What do you want inside you?”

“You.”

“Which part of me?”

This is about words. He wants the words.

“Your cock.”

He sighs. “Say it again.”

“I want your cock inside me. Your long hard, thick
cock
inside me.”

He gives me half an inch for my effort. I’d be writhing around, drawing him in if it weren’t for my limited mobility. Does he want me to beg for it?

“More,” I say.

“More what? And where?”

“Please, Logan. I want your cock in my pussy.”

He slides in a little deeper but he remains very still. Very hard and very still.

I moan with longing. He chuckles.

“What do you want me to do, Ava? My cock is in your pussy. That’s all you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I want it deeper. All of it. I want you to move. I want you to fuck me, Logan. I want your cock to fuck my pussy.”

“That’s my girl.” He slides all the way in and I nearly melt with the pleasure of his thickness filling me. I moan deeply to prove it.

“You like that, baby?”

“God, yes.” He slides in and out slowly. Painfully slowly. I wriggle and tense, trying to get him to go faster.

“You in a hurry?” he says, laughing lightly. “Patience.” He picks up his pace a bit and soon I’m lost in a sweet rhythm. With each smooth thrust I feel more open and full, and more relaxed even though inner tension is beginning to build.

“You’ve got a beautiful ass, Ava. Can I play with it?”

“Mmmm,” I murmur agreeably, happily absorbing every deep, slow thrust and feeling a hunger for even more.

He reaches for something on his desk. I feel something cool and slippery slide between my ass cheeks. I’m as gushingly wet as Niagra Falls so I don’t see why he’s brought out lube, but the added slipperiness feels nice.

His thumbs work the lube around my anus. I feel a different kind of tension bubble up. Is this what he wants?

He’s thrusting deeper and faster now. I arch my back as much as I can to take him as deep as possibly. I feel one of his thumbs slide into my other entrance, the one I consider an exit. I feel my fear rising up again.

“Logan…”

“Relax, Ava. Let go.” I hear a kind of tension and focus in his voice. His thrusts are getting faster. I focus on that pleasure. I feel his balls collide against me with his deepest, hardest thrusts and I moan, feeling completely overwhelmed by his spearing desire.

“Oh, yes…”

He slides his other thumb into me. He’s breathing heavy, watching everything unfold while I’m in the dark, all sensation gathered in my pussy and ass.

“You’re fucking hot,” he says, his voice husky and dripping with primal hunger.

He removes his thumbs. I feel another dollop of lube and then something else slides into my ass, something bigger, rounded, but it’s not him because he’s still driving deep into my pussy.

After the initial entry, the anal pressure starts to feel good. It must be a small dildo. I relax around it and it’s all okay. I feel so open and ripe, so split and ready to receive anything. And my pussy’s on fire. I’m so close to my edge. As Logan works the dildo gently deeper, he drives into me harder, withdrawing almost completely and then driving his full length. I absorb the dual rhythm and feel my thoughts disperse into nothing as everything in my perception hones in on this explosive pressure.

I feel a slap on my ass and the sting feels delicious. It amps everything up. Logan slaps the other cheek now, and then growls with delirious pleasure. I feel as if I could have orgasmed six times already but it’s like the energy’s collecting into one huge volcano just waiting to erupt. More and more pleasure pours into it, bubbling like lava ready to burst and flow.

Logan is moaning deeply and growling in a way I’ve never heard before. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t make out what he’s saying because I’m already at the edge of oblivion. He removes the dildo and I suddenly feel something essential is missing. And then he pulls his cock out too and I’m bereft. I gasp with surprise. He slaps my ass again and then spreads both cheeks. A shot of fear runs through me as the tip of his cock bumps against my ass. I try to wriggle away but I’m pinned. With the help of his lube-slick thumbs he massages the opening until the head of his cock nestles in. I hold my breath, adjusting to the pain and discomfort and trying to transform the pain into pleasure. My pussy, empty for the moment, is still on fire with desire.

As Logan eases in — he’s so much thicker and longer than the dildo he primed me with — I do my best to receive him. Because what else can I do? I can’t fight, I can’t flee, I can only let go.

He’s in now, and sliding slowly, gently, not being rough at all. I’m still holding my breath and I try to let it out now. Try to let him in. Trust him.

I feel a flutter in my pussy and realize his fingers are roaming its edges. He slides two fingers in and I feel better. One finger he’s left out slides up through my folds until it taps my clit. My fire ignites again. My pussy clenches around his pressing fingers. I bear down on the finger against my clit.

I don’t care what he does to me now. I’m flashing with climactic bursts and want to move with all this pleasure. Logan slides in and out more confidently but still slowly, and while the sensation is strange, I am also beginning to feel a kind of pleasure I’ve never felt before. I feel completely full, totally taken, and this amplifies the fiery bursts in my pussy. My volcano is going to erupt soon. I can feel an almost unbearable heat, a desperate desire for explosive release.

Logan is getting more bold. He’s not giving me his full length, thank goodness, but he’s starting to thrust harder and faster. His breath is ragged and gaspy, different than any of the other times. He pulls on my wrists and I wince, but I’m learning to channel the pain to pleasure. I arch my back as I feel a massive orgasm build from the tip of my clit, to the depths of my pussy and even in the darkest, most private recesses where Logan now plunges. Nothing is left hidden and all is given up to mystery. An animal growl tears through Logan as I feel myself spiral into an orgasm that takes me out of body and mind. My body pulses and clenches with long anticipated release and I feel Logan respond to this, these last deep muscle flexes drawing out his own coming. He moans with his final thrusts, his palms on either side of my ass, holding me to him, holding me together after tearing me apart.

I feel his release, and hear his short vulnerable gasp of attained pleasure. I whimper against the chair letting spiraling orgasmic waves whorl and recede deep within me.

Panting deeply he leans over my back and partially supports himself on the chair. His teeth dig into my shoulder blade. My bound wrists are pinned between us. I listen to my own breathing in my temporary blindness. And then I’m aware of our joined breathing as his chest against my back rises and falls in a calming rhythm.

He begins to soften, but he doesn’t slide out. I feel unbelievably close to him right now. Something in me has broken, but it’s not what I thought; it’s not a structure that holds me up, it’s a cage that kept me from spreading my wings.

Logan crossed a line yesterday, and he took me with him. I am shaken up and split open. I have given him everything. He has taken it all. I have handed myself to him body and soul. If I thought I wanted to see stars when this affair began, I have reached the point where nebulae are exploding inside of me.

I have changed. Logan has changed me. I have changed him. The worlds we inhabit are changing because of our passionate, erotic collisions. And we have built a world between us. A secret world, but a world nonetheless.

Ruby senses the change. “It’s love, isn’t it?”

“It can’t be,” I say. There’s no room for love in the world we’ve created. Or is there? Because if what I’m feeling isn’t love, it has to be something beyond, something that encompasses love and lust and inspiration and evolution and everything else. I’ve stepped over some edge inside myself and I know there’s no turning back.

The canvas knows it, too. The brushes and paints channel this change. I let myself be an instrument for the starfire coursing through my veins. Whatever it is that’s between us, it’s cracked me wide open.

***

The following Sunday, Logan sends me a text while I’m waiting across from the Steady Drip.

Bad news. The Aston won’t start. It’s getting towed to the shop.

My heart sinks. A weekend without him? I can’t do it. I need him. Like a bee needs a flower, like a plant needs rain. Like an addict needs a fix. He is my drug of choice.

I will be forced to start sneaking into his apartment again. I feel butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it. I send him a text.

I’m coming to you
.

Cheekily, he writes back,
And
with
me I hope?…

That’s exactly what happens. Twice. I feel ravaged up and down and inside out by the time I return to my dorm room Sunday evening.

I start to consider this another form of art, this sneaking in and out of Logan’s apartment. I get good at slipping through the shadows to the parking garage door, tiptoeing up and down the stairs, and skittering back to my dorm at all hours of the night and morning.

By the middle of the term, my fatigue and stress have mounted considerably, but so has my tolerance for mind-blowing pleasure. My friends wonder why they don’t see me much anymore. I tell them I’m really focused on my artwork and studies, which I am, but Ruby and Jonathan know the full story of my obsession. They’re far more concerned with their own drama though, and I’m left to my illicit indulgences.

Weeks fly by and soon it’s time for my next project consultation with Dr. T. I pick up a latte for myself and bring him a mocha, which I know is his favorite. We’re sipping our coffees and chatting about setting up the details for the art show’s opening night, when he casually says,

“Someone told me they saw you over by the faculty apartments. What were you doing there?”

I feel an “uh oh, I’ve been caught” flush sweep over my skin and nearly choke on my coffee. I blurt out,

“Madeleine. She invited me for tea the other day. I went.”

“Professor Hare? Oh.” He seems to be giving that some thought. “You two are close?”

I shrug. “She’s supportive. We get along. Sometimes she wants someone to talk to.”

For a second he looks concerned, and I’m afraid he doesn’t believe my lie, and I feel terrible lying to Dr. T, just awful, and I’m determined to have this lie not be a lie for long — I’m definitely going to see Madeleine for tea, like I’ve promised — because I’m not a liar, and it’s only this big secret that’s turning me into a liar and I’m tired of it, and stressed, and I just want the next few weeks to be over with so we can put the secret behind us and start over.

“Well, next time you see her, tell her I say ‘hi’,” says Dr. T with a smile. “Is she off her crutches yet?”

“Um, I think, uh … next week?” It’s a stab in the dark, as I have no idea. I’m pretty sure she still has them?

Dr. T gives me a concerned glance.

“Now, Ava, are you burning the candle at both ends? You seem rather stressed. How’s the painting coming along?”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. He’s not suspicious. He’s back to caring about my progress. It’s true I’m stressed, though it’s not just the end-of-year demands.

“It’s just so much work,” I admit, thinking about how hard it is to try to graduate while living a secret life.

“You’ve been very productive this year. Don’t you have enough canvasses for the show?” He looks down at his papers. “Your proposal says twenty. How many left to complete?”

“Three need more work and I still have one new one left to do.” I’ve been blocked on what this remaining painting will be. Everyone’s now too busy to model for me, and my imagination feels overtaxed.